TRUST ME: VOLUME IV
by NokuMarieDeux
Summary: A satisfactory outcome to the mission appears bleak as plans go awry, misconceptions arise and tempers are frayed. Will the word prove mightier than the fist?


**TRUST ME • A SUPRANATURAL TALE IN FOUR VOLUMES**

**VOLUME IV**

**PART EIGHT • SATURDAY**

CHAPTER 20:_** "The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams" **_• Eleanor Roosevelt

In the hour just before dawn Slugger dreamed of an endless procession of horses filing nose to tail through the yard gate and into the barn—and only himself left alone for all eternity to look after them. The dream receded as he segued from sleep to near consciousness and rolled over to face the partially opened bedroom window, where faint moonlight penetrated the new chintz curtains. Seconds passed before neural pathways made the connection between between dreamstate and reality. Conditioned to responding to noises in the night other than the normal creaks and groans of the old farmhouse, Slugger got out of bed to peer through the curtains. And though there was nothing to be seen moving in the spectral light of the waning moon, he felt compelled to investigate.

Slapping on his knit cap and easing open the door to his room, Slugger made his way to the mudroom and slipped bare feet into wellies. Pulling a barncoat over his nightshirt and retrieving a torch off the shelf, he quietly opened the outside door. The broken yard gate, which had been propped up against the stone pillars, had been moved aside slightly. He immediately identified as unshod hooves on cobbles the muffled thwocks emanating from the rear of the yard. Somehow he knew exactly what he was going to find and broke out in goosebumps.

Slugger flicked on the torch. The feeble cone of light reflected from a green eye and disclosed the shadowy outlines of a light-colored horse standing near the trough.

"Oh, it's only you," he grumbled. "What are you doin' roamin' around this time o' night?"

So this was the celebrated and mysterious Squirrel. Certainly wasn't much to look at, Slugger mused, wondering at his own lack of fear. Small, ugly and misshapen... looking in fact like what you'd expect to find in a knacker's yard... shaking and weaving as if about to keel over.

"You're supposed to be tucked up in bed, not running around looking for more mischief to get into." Not that the animal appeared capable of running anywhere at the moment. It just regarded him dolefully with a long twist of slobber hanging off its lower lip.

"Hello? Are you... er... in there?" Slugger whispered, feeling incredibly silly.

"Are you... uh... stuck or something? Can't you... er... change back?" Not that Slugger really wanted to see anything like that with his own eyes.

The yellow horse didn't say anything.

Slugger shrieked and dropped the torch at the feel of a hand on his shoulder. He spun around with fists at the ready.

"Slugger! It's just me... Steve! What are you doing out here?"

"What are _you_ doing out here?" Slugger hissed back.

"I asked first."

"I heard a strange noise."

Steve's face was dubious. "I wasn't asleep. I saw the light from the torch." He bent down to pick it up and handed it back. "Didn't mean to give you a fright. Where did _he_ come from?" He inclined his head toward the horse. "I was hoping we'd seen the last of him."

"Dunno... I just come out here and here he was," Slugger hedged.

"Slugger... are you alright? I mean... out here in the middle of the night... talking to a horse?"

"Was talkin' to meself, weren't I," Slugger said defensively.

But Steve was shaking his head. "No you weren't. I was standing right behind you. You were definitely talking to that horse. And where's Bernard? I noticed his door was open when I came down and he's not in his room."

"How would I know where he's got hisself off to? I ain't his minder."

Steve shivered. "Slugger, there's something off about him. He's not normal. Nothing's been the same since he got here. Everything's gone wrong and we haven't been ourselves, either. I wish he'd never come here."

"I feel the same way, son," Slugger replied fervently. _And you don't know the half of it!_

"Slugger... you haven't done anything... foolish, have you?" Steve's voice was hesitant and Slugger almost chuckled.

"What? Me? You mean like knock him in the head and chuck him in the lake? What you take me for, lad?"

They looked at each for a few seconds and Steve shrugged, glancing at the horse whose nose was now almost touching the ground.

"I suppose we'd better shut this one up..." Steve reached for a lead someone—probably Ron— had forgotten to put away and had left hanging on the fence by the door.

"Ooooh... p'raps we orter just let him go?" Slugger countered uneasily.

"Well, he's here, isn't he? Might as well put him in that empty box in the corner."

Steve expected to encounter some resistance when he looped the lead around the animal's neck but it seemed willing to let itself be coaxed the short distance to the box, stumbling along the way. There was a water bucket still in the stall which Steve handed out to Slugger to fill.

"I'm not going to bother with a tie-down," Steve said, securing the bucket in its nook and firmly latching both lower and upper doors. "He's too lame to run off. I'll have a look in the morning. We'd better go in. If Dora looked out her window right now she'd think we've both lost our minds."

Slugger followed without comment, having been unable to come up with a single good reason for not imprisoning the yellow horse.

It was already full daylight when Slugger was awakened the second time by furious pounding on his bedroom door. "Rise and shine!" It was Ron, arrived early after a covert early morning phone call from Hazel instructing him to come home and act as if nothing had happened. As the older man struggled into his clothes, his senses were assailed with the odors of frying eggs and bacon and a babble of unidentifiable voices amongst the familiar. After hasty ablutions in the lav, he entered the kitchen to find Ron entertaining Elayne's twin grand-nieces and two unknown young men under Hazel's bleary-eyed surveillance. Steve was ferrying plates and flatware between the kitchen and the scullery. Dora was pouring coffee from a battered enamelware percolator. Both were managing to avoid eye contact with each other and had false smiles plastered to their faces.

With a bread-dough encrusted hand Dottie regally beckoned Slugger into the scullery where another dark-haired female had her back to him, up to her elbows in hot soapy water in the sink. It was the lovely older niece called... what? Solánge, that was it. What in heaven's name was going on and how had he managed to sleep so late through all that commotion? Returning to her kneading, Dottie provided the explanation over her shoulder.

"Lady Elayne's nieces—the younger ones, anyway—have volunteered to come watch over the farm so that we all of us can attend the birthday party. And Elayne's sent two of her young men as well."

"Well... er... but that's tomorrow. Why are they here today, then?"

"As you've given Steve and Dora the day off to settle their business, Ron and Hazel are going to take Elayne's four around and show them what needs to be done. After lunch they're going to the cinema. That should keep them busy and out from underfoot for the rest of the day. I've noted a few items that need attention around the house and then you and I are going shopping later." From a pocket of her duster Dottie produced a frighteningly lengthy list of bullet-pointed chores and an equally daunting inventory of household items to be procured. "Right now we're going to sit and have our own breakfast. I'll do the washing up afterward while you show Solánge around the place before she goes back to Butler Hall." Confounded at being upstaged and ordered around in his own domain, Slugger found himself tongue-tied.

As if reading his mind, Solánge spoke up. "Not to worry. The twins and Elayne's grooms have been around horses all their lives and they will take very good care of yours."

On second thought, Slugger thought, it wasn't so bad after all having his day organized by someone else and being the served instead of the server for a change. Dottie shooed them out the door when they were done eating.

With an enticing smile, Solánge slipped her arm through his. "And now, Slugger... or should I call you Edward? I should like a brief tour of your little farm."

"Wouldn't the young ladies rather be goin' to the party?" Slugger asked as they walked.

"Not at all. They are exchange students at Hog... at an academy up north, you see—and this counts as part of a service trip they are doing, after which they will write up a report."

"Oh." _Must be some snooty girls' school,_ Slugger thought, having never heard of it.

With the morning feed done, horses, ponies and donkeys began congregating in the yard, waiting to be turned out to pasture and Slugger pointed out various animals and their names and approximate ages.

"What a wonderful thing you are doing here for these old ones!" Solánge exclaimed as Ron and one of the twins guided the little herd out the yard gate and down the lane toward the pasture. Dora was issuing directives to the other twin and Elayne's two young men, already equipped with barrows and forks. Steve and Hazel were busy administering to one of the older donkeys that had gone off its feed.

Solange admired Queen Maude impatiently awaiting her turn to be conducted to the west pasture and turfed out for the day, pronouncing her _'une vache trés belle.'_

"I would like to see this American mustang Elayne tells me you are keeping here... I didn't see him with the others?" she said ingenuously.

Slugger nodded and headed toward the only box which still had closed doors. "He's up here."

"You keep him locked up in the dark?" The question didn't quite mask a strong note of disapproval. "He doesn't run with the others? You should not do this. He should be free."

"He only showed up last night," Slugger answered defensively. "He were runnin' loose up until then. Steve must've kept him back on account of he's gone lame."

"Lame? In what way, lame?" The lovely Solánge was obviously concerned or displeased and that made Slugger even more anxious.

Before he could answer her question, they had arrived at the box at the far end of the block. Slugger fumbled open the latch to the upper door... only to find an empty stall. The woman gave him an enigmatic sideways glance and his mind went blank.

"Someone musta turned him out earlier this morning," Slugger offered as an excuse.

"Or perhaps the little _écureuil_ let himself out?"

"Eh? Eckoo wot?" Slugger was nonplussed.

"An _écureuil_... is, how you say?...a squirrel. Inventive little creatures, are they not? Always getting into and out of places they shouldn't be.

Slugger agreed vehemently. They strolled back to where Solánge had parked the sparkling new LandRover that had conveyed herself and the four youngsters from Butler Hall, beside which Follyfoot's decrepit vehicle looked even shabbier than usual.

"And what of your young American himself... my kinsman? Is he recovered today?"

"Oh... er... yes. Right as rain. Up early this morning... very early. Probably gone for a walk or something."

"I see. It's been a pleasure, Monsieur Slugger. We will see you at tomorrow's fête, I presume?"

"Oh yes m'am. Wouldn't miss it for the world. Dora's like a daughter to me."

"I'm sure she is. _Adieu_, then!"

Solánge bestowed a chaste kiss on Slugger's cheek, pressed his hand lightly, climbed into the Rover and motored away.

As Slugger watched her recede in the distance, his thoughts tumbled over one another like puppies in a box. Breakfast before chores twice in one week. Phenomena of which he dared not speak. Lovely ladies who would rather shovel horse manure than go to a party. One young man who couldn't keep his counsel and another who kept his heart shuttered. Yet another who might be nothing more than an illusion. Or was the horse the illusion? A young woman with a heart so full of love it threatened to consume her. The promise of a long-awaited and long-overdue union of souls. The intrusion of otherworldly designs into the insular, well-ordered universe that was Follyfoot. He felt as if he'd been walking through a dream all week, one that must end soon after which all would be back to normal. Sighing and consulting his 'honeydew' list—at the top, oiling all the hinges on all the doors—he went to fetch a can of oil.

Dottie had been watching through the window and shaking her head ruefully. _Men... so easily distracted by a pretty face!_ Not that she was at all perturbed about the one that had just left. No, that particular one, no matter how lovely, was unattainable—she already belonged to someone else... and Dottie was sure she knew who that someone was.

Lunch was a jolly affair with much good-natured ribbing and peals of laughter and high praises for Dottie's culinary efforts. On the surface Steve and Dora appeared to be joining in but the strain on both their faces belied their true states of mind and they seemed to have very little to say to each other. Slugger and Dottie caught each other's eye from time to time, wordlessly communicating their apprehensions. Their offers of washing-up assistance having been turned down, Ron and Hazel and the four Butler people piled into the Rover.

Slugger watched them drive away before remembering that he'd meant to ask who had let the yellow horse out of its box. There was no way the animal could have let itself out—but it simply wasn't there anymore. He returned to the house and Dottie's comforting presence.

As soon as Slugger reentered the kitchen, Dottie was right there, quivering with indignation, worry lines creasing her forehead. "Quick, man! Now we're alone for a minute, what on earth happened here after I left. I go upstairs to strip the beds and what do I find... Hazel's sicked in her wastebasket, Bernard's room smelling like an Eyetalian bordello... empty wine bottles everywhere... and what happened with Steve and Dora? Did he pop the question?"

Slugger held up a weary hand. "If I could get a word in edgewise..."

"And have you seen Bernard since we sent him upstairs? He's nowhere to be found. And there's Hazel looking like the morning after the night before and when I asked Dora she got all upset. Hmmpphh! Turn my back for five minutes and the entire household is in an uproar..."

"Woman, please!" Slugger interjected loudly. Dottie stopped in mid-tirade, her mouth hanging open. "I'll tell you what I know, which isn't much.

"Yes? Go on..."

Slugger filled her in on the result of Steve and Dora's private conference, his own later participation, Dora's discovery when she went upstairs, and today's plan for Steve and Dora to go off riding on their own.

"My goodness, he's certainly an energetic little rascal!" Dottie commented.

"I wouldn't be so hasty to blame Bernard... Hazel is too wise beyond her years, if you know what I mean. Let Ron deal with Hazel. I'm too tired to think about it."

"Poor dear... you do look like you could use a nap," Dottie declared sympathetically.

"I believe I just could," he replied wearily, the missed hours of sleep having caught up with him.

Steve shot through on his way to the loo just as Slugger was heading toward his rocker. Slugger waited for him in the hall, listening with alternating concern and amusement to the sounds of energetic vomiting on the other side of the door. He recalled that he, too, had been reduced to nausea on the occasion of his proposal to Tiny all those years ago.

"A word in private, lad, if you don't mind," Slugger said when Steve emerged white-faced, pointing to his own bedroom door which he closed behind them after they had entered.

Steve watched curiously as Slugger delved into the depths of his top bureau drawer and came up with a small blue velvet jeweler's box which he then presented to Steve.

"What's this, then?" Steve asked.

"Look inside and you'll see."

Steve opened the box to reveal an exquisite smoky topaz ring with tiny diamonds set within a delicate tracery of celtic design at either side. As Steve held it up to the light of Slugger's bedside lamp, the oval stone caught and reflected gold and amber rays like the corona of a setting sun.

"It's beautiful. Where does this come from, Slugger?"

"This was Dora's grandmother's engagement ring. It came down to the Colonel for when he married, to present to his bride... but of course he never did. The Colonel held it in trust for Dora, for when she married. He intended to give it to her young man to give to her. The Colonel said Dora was very close to her Grandmother Maddocks and always loved this ring, and knew it were supposed to come to her eventually, but she probably ain't thought of it in years."

"But... how did you come by it?"

"When the Colonel knew he was dying, he give it to me with my promise to give it to her young man when the time come. I reckon now's the time. When you're out riding today, when you find just the right place, you stop and give her the ring and ask her _again_ will she have you. Tell her how much you love her. Go on now, keep it somewhere safe so's you don't lose it."

Steve contemplated the ring as if it embodied some magical power that would ensure Dora's accession to his request. Carefully he closed the box and stowed it in the zippered chest pocket of his windcheater. He understood that his petition of the previous evening might have come across as an insincere appeasement of Dora's wrath. He realized he would have to approach her again—the right way—the formal and romantic way and in an appropriate setting. Once again, Slugger had accurately identified a prime opportunity. Dora was never happier than when outdoors on a fine day, on horseback and surrounded by splendid countryside.

Dottie joined Slugger at the window, watching as Steve walked over to where Dora waited with their horses, then as they spoke briefly, mounted and rode away.

"Did you give him the ring?"

"In his pocket."

"That's that, then," Dottie sighed. "Now, old man, you just set yourself down and I'll bring you a nice cuppa."

As Slugger drifted off with the newspaper over his face, he reflected that it been a long time since a woman had made a fuss over him. A very long time. And he liked it, he most certainly did like it.

It was just like the early days, Dora on Copper setting the pace and the path and Steve keeping Alex a half-length behind. Instead of turning south toward the lakes and their usual trail, Dora went north along the driveway and crossed over the two-lane county road. He figured she was heading toward the River Wharfe, a mile and a half north of Follyfoot as the crow flies, and was pleased. They hadn't ridden in that direction in many months and it was one their favorite destinations, with a secluded tree-shaded path that meandered along the river's course. The only drawback was that except for occasional short increments, the path necessitated traveling single file.

It had been a lonely and confusing morning for Steve in spite of the bustle created by four extra people. All morning long and throughout lunch Steve had contrived to remain in Dora's immediate vicinity, anxiously seeking to interpret his fate from her guarded expression. She'd remained distant but not icily so. Ever so often she would catch him looking after her and a tiny furrow of what he took to be annoyance would form between her eyes before she turned away to carry on with whatever she was doing—at one point she'd actually said "for heaven's sake, quit hovering!" and he'd respectfully backed off. She'd had smiles for everyone except him, it seemed like.

Although Steve felt no rancor toward Ron, the redhead had skillfully avoided him as did Hazel who at least had flashed him a sympathetic grin now and then. Slugger and Dottie had addressed him pleasantly but he could see in their eyes their full awareness of the fact that his future at Follyfoot depended on Dora's decision. If she refused him, as he increasingly expected she would, then he would _have_ to leave. A cold hard knot of dread had lodged under his breastbone and there it remained. He thought about the possibility of having to start over away from the people he'd grown to feel kinship with—and the woman he now realized he truly loved and wanted to be with forever. This feeling of attachment and the attendant fear of having it wrenched away was nothing new and unfamiliar—he had experienced it many times, but never before had it caused him such physical illness that he'd had to throw up.

He tried to marshall his thoughts toward a positive outcome. That Dora had agreed to go riding with him was encouraging although she'd hardly spoken throughout the morning. That Slugger had given him the ring indicated that Slugger, at least, was anticipating success. He patted the pocket of his jacket to reassure himself that the velvet box rode securely in place.

Immured as he was in these dour thoughts, Steve was unprepared when Copper pulled up sharply, causing Alex to blunder into him and setting both horses to snorting with indignation. Directly in front of them and blocking the way stood Bernard's ugly yellow horse, looking no better than it had during the night. The animal whickered and turned away, advancing at a painfully uncoordinated gait along the path before stopping and turning its head to look at them.

Dora then turned her own head and met Steve's puzzled look with her own. "What's wrong with him? He's acting like he's got into some fermented apples."

"Looks like he wants us to follow him," Steve offered.

"Then I suppose we should. We were going in that direction anyway."

She clucked to Copper and they moved forward. It became obvious in short order that Squirrel was indeed leading them somewhere as he would periodically pause and look behind to see if they were still following.

They reached the Wharfe and crossed over at a shallows, where Dora reined Copper westward to follow the yellow horse along the path on the north side of the small river. Continuing on to the Harrogate Bridge, Squirrel paused and glanced left and right with eerily human attention, waiting for traffic to pass before traversing the bridge to the south side and attaining the portions of the Harewood Estate that were accessible to riders. Through undulating meadows, Squirrel unerringly led them to the summit of the highest tor in the area—one of the most favored scenic spots in the park, where groundskeepers had thoughtfully installed a wooden bench for footsore ramblers and a two-tiered fountain for the refreshment of horses and their riders. A trio of immense ancient oaks provided shade and the view from the bench was spectacular, overlooking thousands of acres of parkland and woods with the blue-gray hills of the Yorkshire Dales in the far background.

Long ago Dora and Steve had had the foresight to always carry long leads and leave halters on under bridles for the times they wanted to dismount and let the horses graze. These they now clipped to the halters and tied Copper and Alex where they, too, could enjoy the lush grass along with Squirrel while their human companions arrayed themselves on the bench and drank in the scenery.

With one booted foot tucked under her, Dora presented a three-quarters profile to Steve, who sat stiffly erect with both feet on the ground, his hands clenched nervously in his lap and his eyes firmly fixed on the horizon. He was afraid to move, to speak, to breathe. An eternity of minutes dragged by as he waited for her to say something. Finally... she did.

"Yes."

"Yes?" He wasn't sure he'd actually heard the word. Maybe he was just imagining it. But no, as he slowly turned to face her, he saw a ghost of the smile he'd been praying for.

"Yes, I'll marry you."

He felt the breath he'd been holding leak out of his lungs.

"You will?"

"Didn't I just say so."

Wordlessly Steve got up and moved to stand in front of her before sinking to his knees and laying his head in her lap with his arms wrapped around her waist. He felt her hand gently stroking his head. When he looked up, it was to find his old Dora's face—the one he hadn't seen in so long a time—smiling sweetly as tears glided down her cheeks. Then they were both on their feet and embracing. Neither one had noticed that Squirrel had been sidling ever closer until he was cropping grass practically at Steve's feet. Suddenly he raised his head and head-butted Steve in the rear.

"Hey! Do you mind? A little privacy here!" Steve yelped before turning to kiss Dora's forehead.

Dora pushed away and held him at arm's length, studying his face with mock perplexity.

"Didn't Wendy and Tina teach you any better than that?" she teased lightly.

"Wendy... Tina...? What...?" Steve was disconcerted by this unfamiliar boldness, when she didn't lower her head in the old familiar way and peek disarmingly from under her lashes. Instead, Dora faced him steadily, placing one finger on his lips to shush him. Her voice, too, was steady and the tears evaporated.

"If you're going to learn from tutors, go for the best you can get. This is what I learned from mine..."

When they came up for air a few minutes later, Steve murmured, "If this is what Bernard taught you, I'm thinking maybe I should be giving him a medal rather than beating him to a bloody pulp."

"Yup. That's what that was all about... a remedial course in kissing."

He frowned at this oblique reference to the circumstance that had resulted in their being here today.

"Dora... I..."

"I can't and won't apologize for what happened between me and Bernard... which, by the way, was nothing more than a kiss. It was something I had to do, to prove something to myself. You're the only man I've ever loved or ever will love. The question now is, do you love me back?"

Steve almost imperceptibly nodded his head. "I do. I have. From the first. I didn't want to but I couldn't help myself."

"Then why couldn't you say it?"

"I told you Dora, love changes things. Love hurts."

"So you said. And you also said we couldn't be together, that it would never work for us. And yet here we were, almost two years later, going neither backward nor forward. I'm ready to go forward now, and I want us to go together."

"You were the one who didn't want change."

"Ah... that was then. This is now. I think I've grown up a little since then."

"I just don't see..."

"Steve, sometimes you just have to take things on faith, like Bernard said. Just because you can't see something doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Just because you haven't experienced something wonderful doesn't mean that something wonderful won't happen to you some day... if you let it. That's the key. I love you, Steven Ross, and there's nothing you can do about it. We belong together for always."

She cupped her hands on the sides of his face and he responded with the wealth of passion she had always suspected simmered just below the surface of this reserved insular man.

"I love you, Dora Maddocks," he whispered in her ear, "and there's absolutely nothing you can do about that."

They kissed again as Copper, Alex and Squirrel looked on with great interest, as well as a pair of would-be lovebirds who'd been expecting to utilize the bench themselves and were disgruntled upon having to seek a suitable romantic spot elsewhere.

"I almost forgot... I have something for you..." Steve removed the velvet box from his pocket and opened it.

"Oh Steve!" Dora gasped. "Grandmother's ring... how... where...?" Unmistakeable happiness radiated from her as he removed the ring and placed it on her finger with a brief accounting of its acquisition.

"This is just a token... I'll get you a real engagement ring later... a diamond."

"No, no! This is perfect... anyway, I wouldn't be able to wear it—or anything other than a plain band—while I'm working... but oh, Steve!"

They didn't even notice, as they caught up their mounts and prepared to return home, that the yellow horse had disappeared once again.

Dusk had descended by the time they reached home and put the horses away. At first they thought themselves alone as the Rover and the Cortina were both missing, but entering quietly through the mudroom door they could hear the piano being gently played in the family room. A note left on the kitchen table explained that Ron and Hazel had already finished evening chores and taken themselves off to town, as had Slugger and Dottie, but that they'd all be returning by bedtime. Supper had been set aside for them, sealed in aluminum foil and placed in the warming oven. Dora was the first to spot the backpack parked in readiness in the hall.

"Looks like Bernard is leaving us sooner rather than later."

Steve made no comment.

"I'd like to speak to him alone, if you don't mind...?" It wasn't a question asked lightly, Steve understood. It was a test. A twinge of jealousy reared its ugly head and he immediately squelched it.

"Of course, love. I'll just go check on the rest of the horses while you tell him the good news." She would never know the effort it cost him to maintain that light-hearted tone as he retreated to the yard.

_Comfort me with apples_, Dora thought as the now-familiar scent accompanied her down the hallway to the family room where she silently opened the door. In semi-darkness with only one small lamp lit, Bernard was playing and singing softly to himself... or was it for her benefit?... in his pitch-perfect pure tenor. It was a tune she knew well: Carole King's "Will You Love Me Tomorrow?"

She was sure he was aware of her entrance but he finished the piece before deliberately lowering the keyboard cover and sliding around on the bench.

"Will we still love each other tomorrow, do you think? Will we be happy?" She posed the question tentatively in a very small voice.

"You have to trust that you will, Dora."

"Bernard... if you're really from the future... wouldn't you know... couldn't you tell... what's going to happen to us?"

Bernard stood up and walked over to her, shaking his head. "It doesn't work that way. See, I didn't know you... any of you... until I got here. And I won't know what your future holds until I go back... if that makes any sense?"

"So there's nothing at all you can tell me?"

"Well... I didn't say _that_... exactly," Bernard said carefully. "There is... something."

Dora's eyes widened with hope. "Will there be... children?"

"Yes."

"Oh! ... and... grandchildren?"

"Yes... at least one, I'm pretty sure. But don't quote me on that. I could be wrong."

Dora fought back tears of happiness mixed with sorrow. She hated goodbyes; they had always brought her sadness. "Oh, Bernard! Must you go tonight? Can't you stay for my birthday party?"

Bernard grinned his quirky grin and took her left hand, holding it up so that the ring was prominently displayed. "Mission accomplished. I have to go home—back to my own time and my own love. She'll be along to pick me up in a few minutes."

"I understand. I'm going to miss you, though. We all will, I think. Even Steve."

"And I'll miss you guys, too. It's been an interesting week, to say the least."

"Thank you, Bernard. I'll never really understand how you did it, but you've saved my life... and his."

Bernard shrugged. "I didn't really do anything at all... just talked and listened and put a few ideas in your pretty little heads... both of yours."

"Will we ever see you again?"

"Probably not... but then again, life is strange and you never know. Trust me. Be happy. Be good to each other, okay?"

"Okay." Dora's voice broke a little but she held firm. "Can I ask you a personal question before you go?"

"You can _ask_."

"Just for the record... what's your real name... your full name?"

"It's Bernardo Florentinus Di Camerata... but don't tell anyone."

"You don't look Italian."

"I'm not... it's a long story. My parents were Renaissance aficionados with delusions of grandeur. It's a bit embarrassing, to tell the truth."

"Can I ask another question... about the future?"

"If you just gotta," Bernard sighed.

"This other man... the one I would have ended up with if Steve hadn't... can you tell me who he was... is?"

"I shouldn't... because he wasn't the right one and it would have ended badly... but..." Bernard whispered a name in her ear and her jaw fell open in astonishment.

"You have to be joking!" she marveled.

"You'll say goodbye to everyone for me?"

"I will, yes. Can I make one last request before you go?"

"What's that?"

"Could I have a hug? Just a small one. How dangerous can that be?"

They hugged and swiftly broke apart at the sound of an approaching vehicle. Exiting the kitchen door, Bernard hoisted his backpack and went to meet it. He put the backpack in the boot before getting in on the passenger side. Although it was fully dark outside, Dora recognized the car as one of Elayne's although she couldn't make out who was driving. Steve materialized beside her and took her ringed hand as the car purred away.

"I'd be lying if I said I was sorry to see him go. But if it wasn't for him..."

Before they could reenter the house the Cortina and the LandRover arrived simultaneously. The happy news was disseminated to the accompaniment of cheers and whoops of congratulations with vast relief on the part of Slugger and Dottie. Slugger hunted up a couple of bottles of brandy he'd been keeping back for just such a special occasion and toasts were made all around. The formal announcement would be made at the party tomorrow. Bernard's name wasn't brought up once; it was as if everyone understood—telepathically on some level—that he was gone from their lives and wouldn't be returning.

As it was too late for Dottie to drive home, she agreed to stay over the bedroom recently vacated by Bernard. The celebrants all tipsily bade each other goodnight and the old stone farmhouse grew still.

**Field Journal: Saturday, September 7, 1974 • 9:00pm**

**Location:** Guest bedroom, Butler Hall

Honestly! The inconveniences those Normals cause the rest of us-they have NO idea! Four transformations in one twenty-four hour period just to get the job done!

Good thing Steve and Dora are both fairly adept at horse body language and followed right where I wanted them to go. That was the most romantic trysting place I could find on short notice, not being familiar with the area. Seems to have worked out alright. And wasn't that just the sweetest First Kiss ever! (For them, anyway.) Pretty good grass there, too.

Aside from having possibly the worst hangover of any of my lives, a satisfactory conclusion to the day, the week AND the mission.

Was it worth it? She Who Always Has The Last Word assures me that it was. And of course, it ain't over until it's over and that won't be until they're actually married. Fortunately for me, the terms of the agreement extended only to getting them together and if possible getting them engaged, which they now officially are-an enormous step forward for both of them.

Although couples counseling is not my forte and never has been, I've never in my career encountered two people more desperately deserving or in need of each other yet more pig-headedly determined to keep it from happening. Privately I have my reservations as to whether such a union can survive. They each still have a long way to go before they can truly understand and appreciate each other's perceptions. But they both have so much love in their hearts-maybe that will be enough to bind them together until they get there.

SHE and I agree that it would probably be best that I not put in an appearance at Dora's party but we've come up with a happy solution, so I'll still get to see what's going on and later on can get the details from Herself.

**Note to self:** Probably shouldn't have confided that other dude's name because for the next forty years, every time she and Steve have a falling out, she'll wonder if she wouldn't have been better off with so-and-so. On the other hand, speculation about roads not taken is what keeps life interesting. We make our choices and we take our chances!

**PART NINE • SUNDAY**

CHAPTER 21:_** "All our dreams can come true if we have the courage to pursue them" **_• Walt Disney

Breakfast carried on amidst animated conversation among the reassembled cast—plus one—from the previous day's meal, the four Butler youth having been once again delivered by the inestimable Solánge along with one of the young female staff of Butler Hall. Dottie had already made a fast trip home to retrieve her party clothes and was imparting instructions to Alice, their au pair for the day.

In the crowded kitchen, Solánge clapped her hands. "Attention please!"

"I have explicit instructions from Elayne. The ladies of the household are to have no contact with horses or housework this morning. They are to spend the next few hours preparing for Dora's party—and nothing else. I am to ensure this. Slugger, you will see to it that your two young men are scrubbed and presentably attired by noon. And yourself, of course.

"Terry, Frankie, Richard, Robert... you go now so Alice can clear the table. Dottie, Dora, Hazel... upstairs with you right now._"_

"Right!" Slugger chimed in, fixing a gimlet eye on his two charges. "Steve, into the bath with you. Ron, we're investigatin' your closet and you'd better have a suit and tie in there like I told you. An' I know I told both you boys to get haircuts," he scolded. "Well... too late now."

He was diverted long enough to help Solánge bring in two large suitbags and a heavy carryall and get them upstairs before trotting to the other end of the long upstairs hall to Ron's room.

Dora went to the shower first while back in her room Dottie and Hazel examined the contents of Solánge's carryall as she emptied it on the bed... hair dryers, curling irons, jewelry cases and other mysterious accoutrements of feminine camouflage including a multi-compartmented makeup case which the others concluded must be Elayne's as Solánge did not appear to be wearing any makeup at all. She hung the two suitbags over the wardrobe doors and unzipped it, revealing the garments inside.

"As you both missed out on the shopping trip last week, Elayne took the liberty of selecting a few items for you to choose from... she hopes you will accept these as gifts."

Hazel's eyes grew round as she removed one lovely sundress after another from the bag Solánge had indicated was hers. There were six altogether and she couldn't imagine how she could make up her mind. Dottie's bag contained four outfits and she had no difficulty at all in deciding on a simple cotton caftan in muted hues of blue and green. The staid dove gray twinset she'd brought from home now seemed positively dowdy in comparison.

Hazel dithered between two dresses until Dora emerged from the lav wrapped in a bath towel with a turbaned head.

"What dya think, Dora?" Hazel held up both frocks. "The coral or the beige?"

"Coral... definitely coral with your tan!" Solánge agreed with her choice so coral it was. Hazel tried it on briefly before taking her turn in the bath, as did Dottie with her choice. Both were amazed at how perfectly Elayne had estimated their sizes.

Solánge leaped into action, insisting on rolling Dora's hair on oversize brush curlers and parking her under the hood hairdrayer even though Dora protested she wasn't the curly-haired type. Hazel was next, with the same complaint but allowing herself to be curlered as well. Lastly, Dottie... whose naturally curly hair needed no assistance. Solánge determined Dora was done and removed her to the makeup table, moving Hazel under the hood. While Dora began applying her face, Solánge took charge of Dottie's mop of curls.

Assembled in the family room by a quarter past eleven, Slugger considered with satisfaction that they made a distinguished trio of gentlemen in their dress finery, even though it had take a battle of wills between himself and Ron to get the redhead to forsake his beloved denims. In the end it had required dire threats from Steve to convince Ron he had to wear a necktie and assistance from Slugger in getting it tied properly. Slugger had examined both of them with the diligence of a governess in a nursery to ensure clean fingernails and spitshined shoes and found everything in order. Trying to avoid wrinkling their trousers and the backs of their blazers, they now perched on the edges of their chairs, waiting for the womenfolk to appear... as males have been genetically adapted to do ever since the first caveman asked the first cavewoman out on a date.

Solánge was the first one down the stairs. Slugger was disappointed to see that she was still dressed as she'd arrived that morning in jeans and blouse.

"You're not going to be at the party?" he asked.

"I'll change when we get back to the Hall... fifteen minutes, tops. Then I shall be yours to command, monsieur... that is, if Madame Dorothy is generous enough to share you." She gestured toward the staircase as Dottie made her appearance, graciously transformed into a stylish matron with a loosely bouffant hairstyle that drew attention away from her plump little body and made her seem taller. Her naturally flawless complexion had been enhanced in some not immediately noticeable way that emphasized the bright blueness of her eyes, as did the floaty caftan.

Slugger was spellbound. He did notice, however, that the wedding ring she customarily wore had been replaced with a star sapphire and that she had allowed Solánge to apply a quick coat of dusty pink nail enamel.

Hazel was next down in her A-line linen dress of vibrant coral that matched her nail polish and accentuated her all-over Mediterranean tan. A single strand of pearls glowed against the skin of her neck. Solange had decreed she wear her hair loose and it rippled in gentle waves down her back.

Ron couldn't think of a single word—for once in his life, completely speechless.

Steve's throat constricted in wonder when the birthday girl herself made her descent. Solánge had done Dora's hair up with tendrils framing her face. Her simple sleeveless dress—a pale golden yellow cotton voile with a sweetheart neckline—was fitted at the waist, with a skirt that flared gently at the hips and brushed the tops of her knees. It was a woman's dress—not a young girl's gauzy, swishy, psychelic minidress such as she had worn from time to time in the past. And Dora looked every inch the elegant woman in it. With it she wore a thin gold necklace and tiny gold studs in her ears. The topaz ring blazed with the brightness of the sun. The three men stared at her in fascination as she negotiated the staircase and favored them with a twirl. There was not a single thing to suggest this was a female who dealt with manure and worse every day of her life.

"You like?" she inquired demurely. The question was directed generally but meant for Steve, and she could see in his appreciative dark eyes that he did like, very much.

Slugger was grinning as proudly as if he had single-handedly been responsible for producing these magnificent birds of paradise from under a top hat. He bowed before each of them before taking Dottie's arm.

"Shall we, ladies?"

The party started off unremarkably as such fêtes usually do but soon gained momentum. Almost all of Dora's friends and acquaintances were in attendance with good wishes and presents, and many of Sir Hughes' associates and Elayne's cronies, not all of them known to Dora but equally celebratory. It seemed that anyone from the village and beyond who had ever come to know Dora over the past three years had been invited. Only a few tactless souls wondered out loud why the honoree's parents hadn't made an effort to attend their only child's coming-of-age party. Others were of the shocked opinion that they simply hadn't been invited. Caterers wove effortlessly throughout the throng and champagne flowed freely.

Steve's heart sank as he took in the crowd and at first could see only a throng of elite landed gentry. He didn't belong here. Only gradually did he begin to notice the ordinary people, his people, mingling among them—laborers, farmers, shopkeepers and their wives all in their Sunday best and all having an excellent time.

It had been Steve's intention to stick by Dora's side like a burr to a new saddleblanket but that proved to be impossible. He was constantly being jostled aside. Before the irritation could build into a thunderhead, however, he had a new problem with which to contend: he found himself inundated by middle-aged women from every walk of life, from housewives to titled matrons, intent on foisting off their unclaimed baggage in the form of unattractive, unhappy and unwilling daughters. Many of these were women who wouldn't otherwise have favored him with the time of day had they recognized him as that former jailbird Steve, that bad element their neighbor Colonel Maddocks had had the effrontery to bring into their community. Even when Steve gave his name, they still didn't make the connection.

No sooner than he extricated himself from one determined mother's grasp, another would appear... or a sadly hopeful spinster obviously some years his senior. Several extremely attractive young ladies who had arrived with other gentlemen contrived to pass phone numbers hastily scribbled on cocktail napkins. Two gaudily overdone divorcees made outright propositions which embarrassed him greatly.

He jumped into a self defensive posture when a throaty voice spoke up from behind. "There you are, darling! I've been looking all over for you." At first he didn't recognize the statuesque beauty resplendent in a silver brocade sheath, with her hair done up in a severe French twist and looking every inch the haute couture model. The pair of matchmaking cows currently competing for his attention took one look and retreated with alacrity under Solánge's glacial glares. The onslaughts abruptly ceased.

"I've come to rescue you before they eat you alive," She murmured in his ear, steering him toward the perimeter of the parade grounds. "You'll be safe with me." They walked slowly and Steve was finally able to look around for the other members of his party. Slugger and Dottie blended in seamlessly with a gaggle of nattily dressed older couples hovering around the open bar.

Solánge pointed toward another corner where the voracious hunter-mothers had regrouped and aligned their virtual spears on a stricken Ron, who could hardly be mistaken for anyone else. His flaming red hair seemed to be standing on end. Ron's reputation wasn't much better than Steve's... but he'd never been imprisoned and his father had buckets of money, which was good enough for them.

"Dora and Hazel are having entirely too much fun dashing the hopes of the adoring multitudes." Solánge gestured to the far side of the lawn where the two young women were holding court at the center of a circle of admirers. "You may have to wait a while to make your announcement."

A revelation came to Steve as he strolled the grounds with this gorgeous woman whose only adornment was a plain gold wedding band. Men both envied and respected other men who had beautiful wives. Both single men and men with women attached to them approached Steve and Solánge freely and introduced themselves. And as with the mothers, none of them identified him as the _same_ Steve Ross who had been living in their community for years. Steve began to understand how appearance and comportment counted, and how if you looked and acted like a person of substance, people would assume you were and treat you accordingly.

Insights flowed thick and fast after that and Steve wondered where his head had been the last three years. There had never been any question in his mind as to his position on the social scale; he belonged solidly in the disadvantaged working classes—the "us"—whereas Dora was one of "them"... the overprivileged upper class. He now saw clearly that Dora had recused herself from that world long ago, didn't seem to miss it or plan on rejoining it at some future time. She had recognized early on the emergence of a "middle class" and tried to explain to him on numerous occasions that this was a place in which anyone could thrive, where your value in society was based on what you made of yourself, not the circumstance of your birth... a totally alien concept to a miner's son who, had his father lived, would probably have been expected to follow in his footsteps.

Dora hadn't planned on becoming an heiress any more than he had envisioning marrying one and it had been incredibly stupid to continue punishing her due to an accident of birth and a twist of fate. It suddenly occurred to Steve that the very business they planned to build together—training horses for those who could afford to keep them for sport, recreation or entertainment—necessitated business and social involvement with the very class of people he'd been raised to despise... the affluent ones. He was going to have to undertake some major revisions of attitude to deal with this new direction in his life. And Bernard was right... higher education was going to be essential.

As the afternoon waned the crowd began thinning. The so-called "commoners"—the working people—had homes and farms they had to get back to, children to tend, livestock to feed or milk, shops to close up. The disappointed hunter-mothers dejectedly began gathering up their redundant progeny and departing. Party-minded singles realized they still had time to descend on other parties in the district or make the rounds of their favorite watering holes before closing time. There was still a fair number of "quality" folks milling around and Steve was able to study them more closely than he ever had before.

Solánge had said very little as they walked, sensing that Steve seemed to be working through some issues, but now she slowed and directed his attention to the white rail fencing separating the house grounds from the nearest pasture. A cluster of curious horses had lined up along the partition, intrigued by the number of humans ambling aimlessly on the other side. Among them was the familiar stubby figure of Squirrel, looking straight at Solánge with an almost humanly pleading expression of exasperation.

"Look who's come to visit," Solánge commented needlessly. She glided over to the fence with Steve in tow and put her hand out to stroke the ugly horse's muzzle.

"We'll be home soon, cher," she murmured and Steve puzzled over the meaning. She then perambulated in the general direction of a sizeable clump of guests gathered at a single round table while other smaller groups were scattered here and there across the lawn.

Sir Hughes Butler—nicknamed "Baby Huey" by Elayne after an iconic American comic book character—was regaling Slugger, Dottie and another elderly gentleman with anecdotes concerning a recent salmon fishing adventure. Two older couples, friends of the host and hostess, chatted companionably with several other pairs of younger people including Ron and Hazel... locals who, though not close friends of Steve and Dora, were known to them. They came to a halt alongside Elayne and Dora.

"I 'spect it's about time you two kids do your thing so some of these old folks can get on for home," Elayne drawled and let out with an eardrum-shattering whistle. Conversation hushed immediately and all eyes were on Steve and Dora as they approached the big table hand in hand. The outlying groups gathered in as well.

"Listen up, y'all," Elayne commanded. "Steve Ross and Dora Maddocks have an important announcement to make... take it away, Steve."

Steve experienced a moment of panic when the words wouldn't come to him although he'd rehearsed them often enough throughout the morning.

"I've... er... I've asked Dora to marry me... and I'm very happy to say, she's consented to do so." Cheers and politely restrained clapping broke out and various people rushed over to shake hands and offer congratulations. Another round of champagne was produced by the solicitous waitstaff and toasts made to the newly affianced couple. Inquiries were made as to the wedding date, which was as yet undecided.

The party ebbed fairly quickly after that and the remaining guests, other than the Follyfooters, took their leave. Praise and thankyous and the usual compliments were handed all around. Dora's birthday presents were loaded into the new LandRover Solánge had been driving and the keys handed over to Steve by Elayne. "Me and Huey's engagement present to y'all. I'll have the papers sent over tomorrow."

Ron, Hazel and Dottie had already piled into the Cortina and Dora was still talking to Elayne. Slugger approached Steve out of Dora's hearing and drew him aside.

"The Dairymen's Association Annual Dance is tonight and Ron and me are takin' our ladies. We'll be out late... very, _very_ late... if you get my drift." He winked broadly and paused to make sure Steve _was_ getting it. "You and Dora are welcome to come along if you like, but..." He left the idea hanging. It was already too dark to make out if the younger man was blushing but Slugger thought he might be.

"Thanks, Slugs... I'll ask her what she wants to do but I think she's tired now and so am I."

The fifteen minute drive home was unexpectedly awkward and quiet. Another of Elayne's young men followed along in the van that would collect the twins, the other two young men and Alice the au pair from their day's assignment and whisk them back to Butler Hall. When they reached the farm, Steve did a quick walkaround with the twins and found all in good order. He did note that some of the older horses and ponies which had acquired the normal gauntness and rough coats and rheumy eyes of old age seemed unusually healthier and somehow sleeker, but this he attributed to his own fatigue and inadequate lighting in the older stables. In the meantime, Elayne's young men quickly removed the many presents from the new LandRover and temporarily deposited them in the family room. Then the six Butler Hall people politely said goodnight and left.

Steve and Dora stood together in the drive, holding hands and curiously shy with each other as the moon rose beyond the hills.

"So... what now?" he finally asked.

Dora pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well... I suppose... we should talk? Make plans?"

"Plans... er... yes, of course," Steve fumbled and promptly tossed the ball back into her court. Planning weddings was strictly women's business as far as he knew. "What would you like, Dora?"

"We could just go to the registrar's office but that's so impersonal... I'd like for us to be married in a church or at least a chapel... something nondenominational. A very small wedding... just close friends and family. You'll have to choose who you want for your best man."

"That's easy... I want Slugger."

"Oh no... you can't have him... I need him to give me away!"

"But... what about your own father?"

Dora fixed him with a cool gaze. "You know I no longer have a relationship with my parents. If Uncle was still alive I'd have asked him before I'd ask Daddy. In fact, I have no intention of inviting my parents."

Steve wanted to argue that this was a most uncharitable view until he stopped to picture his own mother and concluded he didn't care one way or the other whether she was or wasn't invited.

"But you know..." she continued thoughtfully, "Why couldn't Slugger be both and Ron be a groomsman? After all, I'd like to have Dottie as matron of honor and Hazel as maid of honor and I don't think that's usually done, either."

"If everyone's in the bridal party, that would leave no one in the audience," Steve observed drolly.

"Or we could just get married in the stableyard and the horses could be our witnesses," Dora retorted.

Realizing the conversation was verging on the inane, they both laughed.

"Seriously..." Dora said, "Right now I'd love a long hot bubble bath... then I could make us some tea or coffee if you like... and we could take it into the family room while we talk...?"

"Sounds like a good way to spend the evening. Why don't you go ahead upstairs? I'll make the coffee and start the fire. On second thought, maybe I'll have a bath myself and then make the coffee."

They both went indoors and upstairs, exchanging a kiss at the landing before heading to their respective bedrooms to get their bath things.

As Dora shimmied out of her party dress and went to hang it in the wardrobe, her eye fell on Elayne's special present to her, one that had been handed over secretively with instructions to open it only in the privacy of her bedroom. It now flaunted itself provocatively from its padded hanger: an original Kenzo Takada peignor set in silky peach-colored satin—elegantly simple, devoid of ribbons, lace or other embellishments. Dora had never owned much less worn or ever considered wearing a garment with such a lasciviously implicit purpose. First time for everything, she challenged herself gamely, extracting from a dresser drawer a packet of Calgon bath oil beads she had purchased on a whim and never used. She considered presentation and removed every bit of makeup. Best he get used to seeing her without.

With no one else besides Steve on the premises, Dora left the bathroom door cracked open. She washed her hair first. Though flattering, the tendrily hairstyle just wasn't her and she didn't like the shellac-like feeling of hairspray. Luxuriating in drifts of scented foam, she recalled Elayne's pithy and succinct opinions regarding management of the male of the species.

Dora had always assumed Steve possessed some practical experience in romance—it certainly wasn't a subject they had ever discussed, so it was somewhat startling when the thought came to her... _what if he doesn't? What if he's just as innocent as I am?_ After all, she'd never personally observed him kissing someone else and wasn't positive he'd ever got up to anything with Tina or Wendy or anyone else, even though she suspected as much. So... _what if?_ What a fearful muddle that would be! She tried to visualize the two of them in her double bed with not a clue between them as to where to start or what to do and found herself laughing out loud. She told herself to stop worrying about it and trust in what Bernard and Elayne had both assured her... that nature would take care of itself at the right time.

"Dora?" Steve's voice outside the door brought her out of her reverie. "Is everything all right? I heard you laughing..."

"Yes. I'll be out in a little while. Haven't you had your bath yet?"

"In a few minutes. Are you hungry? Would you like me to fix something for us?"

"Not really, no. Are you?"

"Me neither."

"Steve?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you shouting from the hallway?"

"Um... well... you're in the _bath_..."

"For heaven's sake come around where I can see you."

His head poked around the doorframe cautiously, with his eyes squinched shut.

"I'm covered in bubbles. You can't see anything." One eye eased open to ascertain she wasn't telling a story; then the other eye.

"Can I... er... can I get you anything?"

"A glass of wine would be nice."

"In the _bath_?" His voice was incredulous.

"Well why not? And you could do with one yourself. Oh... and bring the bottle!" she added, feeling quite daring. She recalled a time when she was a very small child and being taken upstairs to the nursery by Nanny. Her father had been approaching the door to the bath, carrying a bottle and two goblets. In the brief moment in passing Dora had glimpsed through the open door her father handing a glass to her mother in the bathtub, the bubbles cascading off her mother's arm as she reached up. Evidently this was something married people did so she felt a little practice was in order now.

But Steve was as scandalized as Nanny had been, refusing to sit on the commode lid and keep her company. Instead, he drained his wine at one go and excused himself. Presently she heard the sound of water running and knew that Steve was in the shower stepped from the tub and pulled the plug, quickly towel-drying her hair and wrapping herself in her voluminous terrycloth bathrobe. Darting into her room, she checked the alarm clock on the nightstand—it usually took Steve about five minutes to shower, so that was how long she had to prepare... time enough to blowdry her hair and apply subtly scented bath powder but barely anything else.

By the time the peach negligee fluttered over her head and into place, she was as ready as she'd ever be. She left on only a small bedside lamp and threw a chiffon scarf over it for ambiance. She turned the light off in the hall, leaving the door open, and positioned herself by the opened window where a slight breeze ruffled the curtains and moonlight pooled on the floor.

Finally Steve appeared, hovering in the doorway and looking comically endearing in his pajamas and dressing gown. "Are you ready to come down now? Should I start the coffee and the fire?"

He'd forgotten to comb his damp hair and it fell into his face and stuck out in tufts just like a small boy's. His face, too, put her in mind of a child's... hesitant and hopeful. Dora moved slowly toward him, mindful of the effect the muted lamplight and moonlight would have on the diaphanous material of her gown. Taking his hands in hers, she backed gracefully into the bedroom with Steve in tow.

"Actually, Steve... I'm not planning on going downstairs at all..."

Steve had the most mobile visage she had ever encountered and over the past three years Dora had learned to read it like a primer. She could interpret his emotions almost as quickly as he experienced them and what she saw there now was anxiety and a trace of panic, immediately followed by indecision and then enlightenment and joy. And that's when Dora knew she'd won his heart for good.

He took a halting step toward her. "Dora... are you sure about this?"

She nodded. "More sure than I've ever been in my life. Trust me."

**Field Journal: Sunday, September 8, 1974 • 6:00pm**

**Immediate location:** In transit... and happy to be going home more or less intact! I'll say this for alternative transportation: sure beats hours on a plane or days on a cruise ship, even though I've spent ten of the fifteen minutes of time travel involved here in the bathroom throwing up. Figured as long as I was in here I might as well make one final entry in this journal.

I don't know what might have happened last night after I left or might be happening tonight, but I sure hope they've finally found the happiness they've both been searching for. I'm almost sorry I couldn't stick around for the finale.

**PART TEN • ONE WEEK LATER**

CHAPTER 22:_** Epilogue: **__**Sometimes the fool who rushes in gets the job done" **_• Al Bernstein

I was exhausted. Temporal displacement is energy-intensive at best, and having to maintain the outward appearance of a thirty-six years' younger version of myself—not to mention the alterbeing—for an entire week had just about depleted my last reserves. It always takes a while for my mental processes to readjust to the present from whichever direction I've gone but I usually bounce back to one hundred percent reality within a day or two... reality being husband, father of eight, grandfather of many and great-grandfather of a multitude.

It was good to be home, in my own world, in my own time and surrounded by my own loved ones. It was good to once again have access to a laptop, especially since it'll take months to get over the carpal tunnel sydrome reactivated by all that handwriting. It was good to have a home with all the modern conveniences including a refrigerator that dependably dispenses ice cubes on demand, a reliable cook who dependably caters to the needs of a finicky vegetarian, and a sublime wife who dependably attends to other needs... but we won't go there.

Solánge and I had been home for a week and were thoroughly enjoying our quiet quality time with each other, with emphasis on _quiet_ as our first day back was consumed in a frenzy of welcome-home visitations. One would think we'd been away for years instead of a paltry eight days. I mean, we're blessed to have children who seem to like us well enough to visit frequently and we enjoy their company... in moderation. Trouble is, when they arrive _en masse_ with all _their_ children, the din can be deafening, so it's a blessing when they finally go home, too.

We spent subsequent evenings reading or conversing in our matching squashy-cushioned mission-style rockers positioned either side of the fieldstone fireplace. Sometimes I read to her while she sewed. Across a wide expanse of polished heart-of-pine plank floors, soaring thermopane windowwalls sealed out the chill of autumn and afforded a panoramic view of our land, beyond which the snowcapped peaks of Glacier National Park reached up to touch the new moon's slender sickle. Snow already blanketed the lower slopes. In the distance clustered pinpoints of light spread out along the tableland marked the homes of some of our children. It was all very peaceful.

Firelight accentuated the strands of silver in Solánge's pewter-dark hair and reflected in her remarkable amber eyes, faded now to a lighter, smokier hue. My own hair—though still plentiful and I suppose I should be grateful for that—has gone completely silver although lacking the lustre of hers, and the gooseberry-green eyes of my younger years have long since transitioned to translucent jade. People still refer to us as a "handsome couple" and often remark how fit and youthful we both are "for our age." Privately, I agree with them. And even after forty years of connubial bliss, I'm still pleased and proud to detect envy in the eyes of other men—many of them much younger than myself.

We had agreed, she and I, to hold off on any discussion of my recent mission until I'd had a chance to reread and polish my notes, which I had now done—not that these would ever be made public. It was, after all, a personal and informal journal.

Solange did mention a bit of mischief on the part of our twins on the day they were in charge of Follyfoot: they practiced a few rejuvenation and health restoration spells on the livestock and then wrote up the results for extra credit at end of term. It will be—or was—many months or years before the caretakers realize that the animals are living longer and healthier lives than could reasonably be expected. (Money well spent in my book! Tuition at that special school of theirs, I mean.)

One of the two conditions I had extracted in exchange for my role in this adventure was the promise that I would be apprised of the end result of my mission. I had just finished reading my journal to Solánge and it was time to call in the chits.

The more potent her powers have become with age, the less inclined Solange is to invoke them... very rarely these days and then only for those within the family. But... I know she won't hesitate to delve into the past or the future on any subject of personal interest to her. She no longer requires the assistance of a crystal ball or scrying pool in summoning visions to remain two or three steps ahead of the game and a league ahead of me. She knew exactly what I was thinking about right that very moment.

I was owed the rest of the story and I'd get it, but only if I asked... and I wasn't so sure anymore that I really wanted to know.

Solánge pretended to be focusing her attention on the bit of hardanger embroidery she was working in a small oval hoop, but I could tell she was amused by the way her mouth was twitching at the corners. I couldn't help myself. I really did want to know the outcome but first I needed to go fishing for some positive reinforcement.

"That was probably the hardest snow job I've ever taken on. I knew the minute I met those two I'd bitten off more than I could chew."

"You got them together, didn't you?" Trust Solánge to take the pragmatic view.

"Getting together isn't necessarily followed by staying together."

"And you had some fun along the way... come on, now... you can at least admit to that."

"That wasn't my fault and you know it! Besides, it was _your_ idea to send me back as a young buck."

Solánge paused in her needlework.

"Oh Boo... don't tell me you went and fell in love with her, too!"

"Well... maybe... just a little..." I admitted. "I mean, what man wouldn't? They don't make innocents like that anymore."

"No, they don't," she agreed and resumed sewing. I knew we were thinking of the same thing—our five daughters and three sons, now all grown with families of their own, but once upon a time youngsters just like Steve and Dora... with the same fears and anxieties about life, love and the future.

I argued. "You can't tell that me that if the shoe were on the other foot—if _you_ were the one propositioned by Steve—you wouldn't have been just the slightest bit tempted to fool around."

"Oh, _more_ than just slightly, I'm sure. He certainly was a tasty morsel back then. Probably still is." She waggled her eyebrows salaciously. "But _I_ wasn't the one playing kissy-face."

"Oh yeah?" I parried. "And just what was with that _Irma La Douce_ routine you were pulling on Slugger?"

"Oh... that," she replied airily. "Merely a mild flirtation. That poor old man was having such a hard time coming to terms with things he couldn't fathom, I thought he deserved a harmless little _divertissement_ that he _could _understand."

I attempted to look stern. "Well, you came close to giving that poor old man a heart attack! You vile temptress!_ Seductress!_"

"_Cradlesnatcher!_" she merrily lobbed back.

"How many times am I going to have to apologize for that?" I complained.

"Just reminding how close _you_ came to being turned into a lawn ornament." Said not quite so merrily.

"I have the feeling I'm going to be paying for that the rest of my unnatural born days."

"You betcha," she said drolly.

"So okay... I admit it. It was kinda sorta fun being twenty-something again. But strenuous. One week was enough... all that passion and angst and raging hormones. I sometimes wonder how we survived the first time around."

And I did wonder. Our relationship had met with obstacles in the beginning, too: Obduracy on the parts of both sets of parents. Accusations of miscenegation from our respective communities. Both of us below the age of consent and having to seek ever more creative ways of being together. But that was then; this is now. Time for the lateral maneuver.

"Do you think Slugger or Dottie might have guessed my real age?" I asked.

She raised her head and lifted one eyebrow. "She most likely did. That sort of situation requires delicacy and diplomatic handling of a nature you only acquire after a lifetime of experience. Once they outed you and then found out what you were there for, they would have realized they weren't dealing with a novice. And they were smart enough to figure out you and they were on the same team. Besides, Elayne told Dottie. I'm sure you noticed the change in her attitude toward you."

"Still... I'm having second thoughts about whether it was the _right_ thing. What if Steve and Dora weren't meant to be together? What if it was _wrong_ for me to put ideas in their heads and they end... ended up miserably matched? I mean, the moral and ethical ramifications here..."

Solánge rolled her eyes and secured the needle firmly in the embroidery piece, gently laying aside the hoop and lifting both hands in the universal sign of denial. "Oh for heaven's sake, Boo. Why do you always have to overanalyze every little thing. I can see there'll be no peace until you get it out. What's the problem, Bernard? You don't believe in predestination anyway." She pretended exasperation but I knew she was truly concerned about my state of mind.

"And what if they _didn't_ stay together?" she continued. "What if it all fell apart after you left? Would you want to know that as well." Solánge is pretty shrewd and she knows me better than I know myself.

"Was that an option? No... I guess I wouldn't want to know that all that effort went to waste."

"It's always an option," she retorted gently. "People fall in and out of love all the time. It's a vagary of human nature. It's not like you were in charge of assigning free will to humankind. You simply removed the firewalls so they could identify their choices, as you were supposed to. Whatever choices they did make afterward aren't your problem and you can't be held accountable."

"The thing is... I think I'd feel better if I knew they lived happily ever after... or whatever," I concluded lamely.

"I'm afraid I can't answer that. 'Ever after' is a very long time," she responded drily.

"You're going to make me beg, aren't you?"

She nodded her head. "Begging is good. I like begging."

"I'll make it worth your while..." I gave her my most engaging leer.

"Oh, I'll see to it that."

"So they got married?" There, it was out.

"Yes, dear, they got married."

"And they're still together? Just to, you know, clarify things."

"Yes, they're still together.

"And are they happy?"

"As happy as any average couple can be after thirty-six years of marriage."

"And is that it?"

"What do you mean, 'is that it'? That's all I agreed to tell you. You want more, go do your own research."

My own research. The internet. Duh.

I then made the mistake of demanding to know exactly how a successful outcome to this mission had (or would have) a direct and beneficial connection to our family, and that she reveal who all would be involved and the nature of that involvement. Solánge told me to get stuffed.

She did toss a conciliatory bone, though. I asked if I'd still be around to personally witness the event that would establish the relationship—whatever it was—to our family. She assured me that I would... we both would... in about four years' time... and that it would be a mindblower.

Unfortunately, you can't research the future on the internet.

"What about us, Solánge... will we live happily ever after?"

She sighed and gave me her signature enigmatic smile. "Could be... you never know. Just when you least expect it, life gets more interesting. Trust me."

**Footnote to Field Journal:**

The rest is history... or was history, depending on which direction you're looking. At Solánge's suggestion I'm adding this footnote for the benefit of whoever might be interested...

Steven Paul Ross and Dora Christine Maddocks were united in holy matrimony on a crisp November evening in a candle-lit stone chapel on the grounds of the Butler estate. Edward Arthur Jones gave away the bride, with Ronald James Stryker serving as best man. Hazel Marie Donnelly, soon to be Stryker, was maid of honor and Dorothy Treadwell Doyle was matron of honor.

The officiant was the Reverend Gerard Doyle, newly ordained and performing his very first wedding ceremony as his proud mother beamed from her position alongside the bride. Her three younger sons Jeremy, John and Raymond the constable occupied the first pew. Although few invitations were officially issued, word got around and the tiny building was filled to capacity with friends and well-wishers, with the overflow jostling for views through the doors and windows.

Steve was serene and steadfast, delivering his vows with conviction in his golden baritone voice. Dora was a vision of loveliness in her ethereal way, answering in the most confident affirmative ever heard and shedding not one single tear. As everyone's always interested in what the bride wore, her candlelight satin gown was stunningly elegant in its simplicity-—long-sleeved, high-necked, floor-length. No frills, no furbelows, no veil, no train. A wreath of wildflowers adorned her hair and she carried a matching bouquet.

A joyful wedding reception followed, open to all and hosted by the bride's good friend Lady Elayne Butler at Lord Baby Huey Butler's ancestral pile.

**Some other things I learned...**

That no one remarked on the absence of the bride's parents or the groom's mother (they weren't invited).

That the impending heirs to both the newly-minted Rosses and the future Strykers were a mere seven and six months away, respectively, from making their debuts (although neither couple were as yet aware of that fact).

That rumor had it that the widower more familiarly known as Slugger and the former butter-and-egg entrepreneur widow, who may or may not be an authentic witch, were stepping out with a view toward matrimony.

**You may be wondering how I'm able to fill in the details...**

Solánge went one better than just cluing me in: We were there... in mufti, you might say. This being a country church, open 24/7 and never locked up, no one paid attention to two itinerant cats sitting side by side, front row center, just under the pew near the aisle—a svelte and languid sealpoint Siamese and a scruffy marmalade tom with a perfectly matched pair of... green eyes. (Hah! I know what you were thinking!) That is, no one noticed except Elayne who smiled at Solánge and deliberately trod on my tail as she passed by, and Dottie who flashed a knowing nod and a cheeky wink.

Dorothy Doyle was correct in her assessment that my family must have been terribly ashamed of me. They were... not that there's much I can do about it, then or now. My people are and always have been Cat... which explains the technical difficulties with Squirrel. Solánge was the one who encouraged me to come out of the closet and face up to who and what I was. I will always be indebted to her for that. Her trust and faith in me have never wavered. Neither has her love. Maybe this is why, in the end, I empathized with Steve and Dora's plight in trying to reconcile their very divergent cultural inhibitions. Their road together was no doubt as bumpy and fraught with pitfalls as was ours. 'Hic sunt dracones'... Here be dragons! But we stuck together and soldiered on... and here we are all these years later—in the next century, no less!—still together, still in love, with the end not yet in sight.

In short, all's well that ends well... or so said Willie Shakespeare. And I know I'll always carry in my heart a fond memory of the short time I spent at that little farm in Yorkshire... and the friends who live there still... even if they'll never remember me.

**FINIS**


End file.
